Prologue

PROLOGUE

Duchy of Toxandria (near Ghent)

Breda Castle

Year of Our Lord 1209

T hey were coming.

She'd known all along.

The glow of a distant fire lit up the horizon as the northern edge of her village began to burn. She could smell the smoke and see the ash in the air as it blew upon the gentle sea breeze. She knew the army was methodically destroying the cottages and liveries as they made their way toward the castle. A massive monument to men and conquest that her family had lived in for generations, the tall, gray walls of hand-hewn granite had protected the House of de Ghent for all that time, but in this case, she knew they would not be enough to keep the last remnants of her family safe.

A storm was approaching.

Athdara de Ghent was the last line of defense between her family's survival and the very man who wanted to see them all wiped out. As the daughter of the ruling duke, she was now faced with defending her father's legacy against a man they had all once loved and cherished. A man they had trusted their entire lives, someone who had hugged them and been kind to them. Now, that same man, her father's brother, was coming to kill them all.

Athdara couldn't let that happen.

Her little brother, Nikolai, was the object of her uncle's rage. Her father and older brother were already dead. She tried desperately not to think about it. She only wanted to think about the situation at hand because it was up to her to ensure Nikolai's survival. Her parents, loving and kind people, had two children at first, a boy and a girl, and then another little boy well after. Athdara's elder brother, Milo, had been the heir to her father's dukedom.

Milo would have made a perfect duke, so his death was more than tragic. It was an absolute injustice against the people in her father's dukedom as well as her close-knit family. She would miss Milo's impish smile, his taunting ways, and his dedication to Toxandria. He'd had such goals and dreams. But it was fitting that her father and Milo had perished together, defending the town they both loved, because she knew her father could not live without his eldest son. Moreover, she doubted her father would have been able to live with the idea that his own brother was intent on destroying him.

Death, in this case, was probably a blessing.

But it was the end of all things Athdara knew. Armageddon had arrived, and she was hardly prepared. With her father and brother killed in the initial assault, she was now in command. Their village was a walled stronghold, so the breach in the perimeter wall had taken time. It had given Athdara and the small army her father had left back at the castle time to reinforce the castle walls and the access points. Her father's duchy had always been a peaceful realm, so the attack on the village had overwhelmed them quickly. Her father never had carried a large army, but her uncle had spent the past two years recruiting mercenaries and other misfits into an army twice the size of the one her father had. Athdara suspected that Breda Castle would not hold out for long against the larger army determined to overrun them.

"My lady." An older knight named Alen was at her side. "We cannot reinforce the postern gate in time."

Athdara, clutching young Nikolai against her, looked at him in horror. "God," she breathed. "I'd completely forgotten about that gate. The hinges rusted and Mylo never… He never…"

"Repaired them correctly," Alen finished grimly. "We told him time and time again that it was a weak access point, but he laughed and told us not to be troubled. We chained the gate to keep it secure, but your uncle's army… The chains will not hold."

Athdara looked down at Nikolai. He had only seen six years. He was just a baby, a baby born to reinforce the dynasty when Athdara's mother had shown concern for the continuity if something should happen to Milo. That concern had cost the woman her life when she died in childbirth. Now, that small child stood between the Duchy of Toxandria and the greed of Atilla de Ghent.

Athdara was sick with the realization.

"Then if it will not hold, we cannot remain here," she said, her voice trembling. "Even now, my uncle is on his way to Breda, and once he arrives, he will seize the castle and all within it."

Alen nodded sadly. "It would be foolish to remain," he said, his gaze moving to the little boy with the big blue eyes. "You would never see Niko again."

Niko. The nickname of her baby brother, a sweet child that Athdara loved dearly. She had raised him since birth, a surrogate mother to replace the one he'd lost, so in a sense, he really was her child.

And she would do anything to protect him.

"Then we must leave," she said decisively. "Help us, Alen. Secure the boats that will take us from the river to the sea. That is our only hope."

Alen nodded swiftly. "I was hoping you would say that," he said, reaching down to pick up the boy. "It has already been done. Hurry, my lady. There is no time to waste."

Athdara ran after him, her long legs keeping up with Alen and his men as they raced through the familiar corridors of Breda, past chambers where there used to be love and laughter, past halls that had belonged to her father. Chambers and halls she would never see again. There would be time to grieve later, but now, she had to flee.

She had to save Nikolai.

There were shadows in Breda this evening. Everything was dim because they did not want to light up the interior of the castle to give Atilla any advantage. Light could illuminate people and soldiers, giving him more of an advantage than he already had, so the corridors and stairs were dark but for one of Alen's men with a torch.

Down, down they went to the maze of servants' chambers near the great hall, and then finally out into the kitchen yard beyond.

The moon was silvery on this night. The smell of hay and animals assaulted Athdara's nostrils as she ran toward the gate, with Alen still holding Nikolai. There were several men with them now, heavily armed, prepared to defend what was left of Duke Alexei's family. Alexei had been a good man, and he'd earned great respect from his people. Perhaps that was what Atilla envied the most.

A duke people had loved.

The postern gate in question was being opened as they approached, men opening the big, rusted lock and removing the chains. There was a hint of desperation in the air as they tugged at the old iron, freeing the gate and throwing it wide. The River Mark ran adjacent to Breda Castle and down the slope, peppered with thorny vines and foliage, and boats awaited. Clutching Alen's tunic, Athdara followed the man as he charged through the opening, heading for the boats below. But that was the same time that the sentries on the wall started shouting.

Men were approaching.

Athdara had never seen so many weapons or heard so much shouting. Suddenly, there were men everywhere. Fighting ensued. She heard Nikolai screaming and Alen's firm, steady tone. But those were her last coherent memories as Atilla's army descended.

After that, death and chaos reigned.